The Wolf King of Thedas
by Nhobdy
Summary: The Breach tore asunder more barriers than just the Veil. Two months after the Last Battle, Perrin investigates a pale green 'tear' in the Wolf Dream, deep within the Mountains of Mist. When it expands without warning, Perrin finds himself thrown into a new world, and no clear way to return home. Meanwhile, the true enemies of the Inquisition are about to make themselves known...
1. Prologue - A Tear in the Pattern

**Disclaimer: Neither _The Wheel of Time_ nor _Dragon Age: Inquisition_ belong to me, but rather to their respective creators; if you can recognize it, it ain't mine.**

 **Update 8/18/16 - It's been a long summer, but neither I nor the story have perished; look for the next chapter within a week or two.**

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Stepping out of the Gateway in the Mountains of Mist, Perrin Aybara took in the overgrown Shienaran camp. It had been abandoned two years prior, the soldiers descending to Ghealdan while he chased after Rand with Moiraine, Lan, and Loial. That felt like a lifetime ago; Tarmon Gai'don had come, the Last Battle had been won, and the blacksmith's apprentice had found himself saddled with the burden of lordship. Perrin had stopped resisting, but he doubted it would ever rest easy on his shoulders. He couldn't quite grasp how men and women he'd known all his life suddenly needed his approval to do what they'd done their entire lives.

Loial exited the Gateway behind Perrin, the tall Ogier stooping to pass through, followed by Thom and Moiraine. The Aes Sedai let the Gateway snap closed as soon as they were through. Moiraine remained as composed as ever, but Perrin could smell the hint of exhaustion on her. Traveling was not where her Talents lay, and even with her bracelet _angreal_ , reaching the valley took a heavy toll. Still, she had insisted against involving any more people than necessary on this excursion.

"So this was the so-called 'First Camp of the Dragon.'" Thom's wry voice broke the silence. "Your book doesn't do justice to just how… humble it was, Master Ogier. No offense meant, of course."

"Peace, husband," Moiraine said as Loial harrumphed. "More than anyone, you should know that the truth deserves embellishment from time to time."

Perrin simply shook his head. Ever since the Gleeman-turned-Warder had arrived with Moiraine a week back, he and Loial had spared no opportunity to disparage the other's work. It was good natured, but they each had their professional pride to uphold, even while they traded notes and swapped stories. Neither Thom's epic nor Loial's history would have been possible without the other's assistance. Those involved had been scattered to the eight corners of the world – while both of them had their trusted sources, each also knew the other had the foresight to consider posterity during their travels.

"It is fortunate I recognized the place when it was described, or we may have lost weeks searching; the Wheel weaves in mysterious ways," Moiraine continued. "But I see no sign of this 'tear' that so worried the Wise Ones. It is possible it is something purely of _Tel'aran'rhiod_ , of course, but I would not consider that a comfort – that place is strange, even as it mirrors the waking world. What of your friends, Perrin? Have they any knowledge of this occurrence?"

"It is unnatural, but beyond that I cannot say; no pack has remained nearby, in the Wolf Dream or the waking world. If this has happened before, the memory is a shadow of a whisper to the wolves." That Perrin could speak with wolves wasn't exactly a secret any more, but that he walked the Wolf Dream was known to only a few; a bare handful among the White and Black Towers had the knowing of it, as well as his wife Faile and his closest friends. Among the Wise One Dreamers, of course, knowledge had spread quickly, but though they disapproved they considered it a private matter. They considered him a child, even after demonstrating he wasn't just some untrained pup playing in the lion's den. A talented child, but a child nonetheless. The Wise Ones had seemed ready to string him up when he had described _shifting_ bodily between the Wolf Dream and the waking world, and had calmed only when he explained he had been unable to repeat that feat. No matter that it had been critical to the Light's victory, they saw it as a thing of evil, the way they always had.

Moiraine believed that it was the strain the Dark One had placed on the Pattern that had allowed Perrin and Slayer to step between the dreaming and waking worlds, and he was inclined to agree with her. During Tarmon Gai'don, the Wolf Dream had felt like it was collapsing, drawing so close to the waking world that the two could touch; stepping from one to the other was as easy as breathing, once he knew how. Rand's re-sealing of the Dark One's prison had restored the normal order of things. Now he could only reach the Wolf Dream while he slept – even at Shayol Ghul, and at Merrilor where Balefire had scorched the Pattern.

"Unnatural how, Perrin?" Loial asked. He cradled a notebook in his massive hand, and Perrin could smell his concern. "Do you think it is Leafblighter's touch, his counterstroke, like the tainting of _saidin_? The world is not prepared for another Breaking, not so soon after the Last Battle."

"I don't think so. It feels _wrong_ , but somehow not the same way as a Fade or Trolloc. It doesn't feel like the Bore, either – I've been close enough to know if that were the case." Perrin shivered. Thinking of that place reminded him of Lanfear, how she'd used Compulsion in an attempt to force him to kill Moraine. Burn him, but she'd nearly succeeded; he had nightmares that place, of killing Lanfear, of what might have happened if he hadn't. Neither were pleasant. "Besides, it was first seen barely a month ago, and it's been twice that since Rand sealed the Bore. It is something new, I think."

"The Father of Lies has power and guile, but I am inclined to agree with Perrin, Loial. I was linked with Rand when he sealed the Bore, and while my memory is strained, I do not believe it to be his doing; his prison is too tightly sealed for him to touch the world, not for another Age or more." Moiraine strode across the campsite, walking back and forth as though searching for something. "I sense nothing of _saidar_ , no trace of weaves, and no obvious sign of a _ter'angreal_ that might be responsible. Perhaps I should have asked for an Asha'man to search for traces of _saidin_ , but what is done is done – I doubt he would have been successful in any case, and if what I believe is true, the fewer who know, the better. It would not do to have a loose tongue incite panic." She turned to Perrin. "You may sense what I cannot, though it would confirm my fears. Can you feel it? Can you touch _Tel'aran'rhiod_?"

Perrin grimaced, but gave her a not and reached out with his mind. It was, after all, why Moiraine had passed through the Two Rivers on her way to the hidden camp; she believed that the 'tear' in the dream world reflected a tear in the Pattern, rather than something physical or some artifact of the Power. If that were the case – if the Pattern was weaker here – he should be able to _shift_ into the Wolf Dream. It wouldn't explain anything, not directly, but his failure or success could at least give them a clue. Besides, if this turned from a curiosity into a threat, he would be called upon to contain or eliminate it; though the camp was on the border of Ghealdan, across the Mountains of Mist from the Two Rivers, Queen Alliandre had sworn fealty to Perrin in the events leading up to the Last Battle. He owed it to her, if nothing else. Pacing through the campsite, he let the world fall away as he brought himself to the brink of sleep –

His mind ground to a halt. The road toward the Wolf Dream was forked, one path leading to sleep, the other to… somewhere in between. Signaling his companions, Perrin steadied himself.

"I'm going to make the attempt. Hopefully I'll be gone just a moment – I don't intend to linger, but time moves strangely in the Wolf Dream. If I'm not back by nightfall, contact the Wise Ones. I've caught their scent around the tear, though I have yet to see one of them; they seem to be keeping watch over it. They'll know if something goes wrong." Moiraine seemed to take it in stride, but Perrin's nose could sense her apprehension; Thom and Loial made no such attempt to conceal their concern.

"Faile knows I'm here, so don't try and sidestep her questions; you'll just make things worse when I get back. Light knows she already thinks I'm a wool-brained idiot for agreeing to help," he continued, determined not to let either get a word in. He didn't need them trying to talk him out of it – Loial at least would try, and Perrin feared he stood a strong chance of succeeding if he did. Still, this was a thing that needed to be done.

Perrin _shifted_ , and the world wavered around him.

The wooden huts remained, having stood long enough to achieve a level of permanency, but his companions faded along with the echoes of birdsong and animal cries. He had grown used to the sourceless light and sensation of watching eyes that permeated the Wolf Dream, and barely took notice of the change, his attention focused on the thing in front of him that Aes Sedai and Wise Women Dreamwalkers had named a 'tear.'

Shining a pale green, it undulated in an unseen wind, resembling nothing so much as sheet hung up to dry. A sense of _wrongness_ flowed out from it, almost overpowering at this distance and magnified by the strange sight of it – even with eyes fixed on the thing, Perrin couldn't tell if it had too many angles or too few. It was real, he supposed, in the sense that it had an independent existence – the first time he had seen it, he had tried to dissolve it as he would a nightmare, and it hadn't wavered. Later, he had learned that the Aiel Wise Ones had brought their full will to bear on it with similar results.

Perrin circled the languidly swirling energies, reaching out with his mind. Walking the Wolf Dream in the flesh did not simply let one influence the dream world more strongly; it made you _more_ , and Perrin hoped it would give him a glimpse of what this tear was. To his senses, it was almost like a tight knot in the middle of a sheet, hard where the rest of the dream was malleable. All of the dream except for a bush to his right. He focused; the scent was elusive, well masked, but it still hung on the surrounding terrain.

"Well met, Amys. I trust you and your clan are well?"

The bush shuddered, resolving into a brown-shawled woman of indeterminate age. Blue eyes peered past white hair as she fixed Perrin with a disapproving glare. "You are here in the flesh, boy. I thought you had more sense than that. Moreover, I recall you saying this was a thing now beyond you." Light, she could make him feel like he was fifteen again, being dragged before the Village Council for one of Mat's harebrained ideas. But he was that boy no longer, and refused to be cowed.

"I have no plans on staying, Amys, and I'd appreciate if you stopped worrying over me like I'm a stray pup." That earned him a snort. The Wise Ones still saw other Dreamwalkers as intruders into their domain, and while they had come to accept he was no novice, he still ranked a bare step above the Aes Sedai who needed _ter'angreal_ to touch the Dream. "I was testing a theory of Moiraine Sedai, that this so-called 'tear' reflects a weakness in the Pattern. She believes that the weakness caused by the Dark One was what allowed me to _shift_ between the Dream and the waking world; if I could do so while nearby this 'tear'… it does not feel like his taint, but what else could corrode the Pattern?"

Amys' face grew troubled. "I cannot agree with the Aes Sedai's methods, but her reasoning is sound. We will gather the clans; I will leave it to you to gather the Wetlander nations. If this is Sightblinder's work, it would not do to be caught unprepared."

Perrin nodded, but some instinct sent Mah'alleinir flickering from his belt to his hand, a dagger formed in his off hand as he grasped the haft of the massive hammer. Amys felt it too – she grasped a short spear, ready to throw, and her garments were replaced by the _cadin'sor_ she once wore as a Maiden of the Spear. It took Perrin a moment to realize what had disturbed him: the knot in the Wolf Dream that was the tear was unraveling. Rather than disappearing, however, the ghastly green shape seemed to be growing larger, tendrils reaching toward the sunless sky. Shapes were forming in it, faint but growing sharper. He heart a catch of someone's voice, as though from a great distance.

"Focus past-"

 _Focus past what?_ Perrin wondered, thoughts racing. "Amys! I'm going to try to return to the waking world – get clear and warn the others," he bellowed, taking a shaking step toward what was becoming a tear in truth. _Tell Faile I love her_ , he finished in his head. Saying it out loud would be tantamount to accepting the worst.

Perrin took another step forward, struggling as though swimming against a current, and another, reaching for the path to the waking world that danced just out of reach. The tear was his only way back, and he had strayed away from it while speaking with Amys; precious few had known the weave to reach the Wolf Dream, and they had all fallen in the Last Battle. He was out of options. Just one more step, and he would be close enough to –

The tear exploded in a wave of blinding light, swallowing him, and his world turned to darkness.

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 **Hello folks! I'm Nhobdy, and this here is the first of (hopefully many) chapters that are the brainchild of wondering "How would Perrin react to getting stuck in the Fade during Here Lies the Abyss?" It segwayed into considering how the Dread Wolf would react to a Wolfbrother, and kinda grew from there.**

 **This is also my first go at actually writing one of these damn plot ideas, so I'd appreciate any feedback (positive, constructive, or - Maker forbid - negative) you might have.**


	2. Chapter 1 - To Heal a Shattered Sky

**Disclaimer: Neither** _ **The Wheel of Time**_ **nor** _ **Dragon Age: Inquisition**_ **belong to me, but rather to their respective creators; if you can recognize it, it ain't mine.**

 **Aaaand we're back in business!**

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The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades into myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the Dragon Age by some, an Age yet to come, an Age long past, a wind gathered over the Amaranthine Ocean. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was _a_ beginning.

Westward the wind danced over swollen waters, making landfall in Denerim, salty gusts cutting through the haze of terror and resignation that hung over the city like a cloud. The Fifth Blight hung fresh in the minds of men and elves, and the broken sky offered little hope for tomorrow. Those few who dared hope invoked the Chantry, the King, even the so-called Inquisition; it was those same hopeful, however, who prayed most fervently behind closed doors.

The wind swept west across the Bannorn, over hills and valleys dotted with late autumn frost. It curled southward toward Lake Calenhad and the ancient island tower, standing resolute but abandoned in the grey morning light. Kinloch Hold had survived madness at the hands of one of its own, emerging battered but unbroken, but now the Circles were no more; only ghosts and dust remained. Sighing, the wind continued west to break upon the jagged teeth of the Frostback Mountains.

What reached the town of Haven was little more than breeze, just enough to ruffle Desa's short-cropped hair as she gazed up at the Breach. She pulled her coat tighter; her leathers did little to stave off the cold, even padded as they were with furs. By the Ancestors, if she had to pick one thing she detested about the surface, it would be this Stone-cursed cold. _And yet, here I am at the frostbitten tippy-top of the world, where you can almost kiss the sky. Or tear a nug-humping hole in it, if you've a mind._

As if on cue, a shiver of pain shot up her arm. She'd grown used to the pain, to the point where it was only a dull ache, but the mark on her left hand still flared up at times. Solas had said it wasn't killing her – _not any more, now hadn't that been a lovely experience_? – but it certainly wasn't doing her health any favors. At least the damn thing was useful; the mark had done wonders with the smaller rifts that kept cropping up, even if her initial attempt to seal the Breach hadn't gone as planned. Not spitting out demons was a marked improvement, but now it just hung there, gazing down at her like a baleful eye. One more reminder of how the world had gone mad, madder than a lyrium-crazed bronto.

Desa wasn't sure how long she stood there up atop Haven's barricade, lost in memories of the last month. The explosion at the Conclave had started a chain of events that catapulted her from being a simple smuggler to the Herald of Andraste. She didn't much care for being a holy woman, much less one for a religion she had no faith in, but Desa had run enough cons to know the value of a title. The work wasn't half bad either; nerve-wracking, occasionally bloody, and terrifying enough to make her want to piss herself whenever she stopped to think, but she hadn't felt this alive in _years_. Conning deshyrs and fast-talking Templars was all well and good, but it lacked the flair walking into a magister's stronghold and beating him at his own treacherous game. She skirted around Alexius' time magic whenever she told that story, though. Just thinking about the man's unnatural magic and his alternate future made her skin crawl.

The sound of Cullen barking orders drew Desa from her reverie. Troops were assembling in the space beyond Haven's gate – not the full column the commander had argued for the previous night, but more than enough to serve as an honor guard, especially with the Bull's Chargers as auxiliary. The mages gathered to the side, grumbling and bleary-eyed. The walk to the Temple of Sacred Ashes would wake them up, however, and the Inquisition's inner circle had all agreed it was best to make an early start; better to reach the Temple early and take time to prepare than make a leisurely start and find themselves with dwindling daylight. Several of the mages complained, of course, on the grounds that they were allied volunteers rather than conscripts. Desa had explained that if they didn't like working with the Inquisition, they were free to walk, but they would do so without the Inquisition's protection; protests had dwindled after that.

Giving the Breach one last glance, Desa descended from the barricade to find the rest of her team. Ancestors willing, the trip would prove both fruitful and uneventful, but she could not ignore the itch that had been growing between her shoulder blades. _We're missing something, something important_.

Something, she feared, that could spell their undoing.

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The sun was well above the horizon by the time they reached the Temple. Compared to her previous ascent, they had traveled at a leisurely pace, preferring to save their strength for the task ahead. Desa had to admit the view was breathtaking, something she'd failed to appreciate when there had been demons hounding her every step. You couldn't truly appreciate the Frostbacks' majesty from the valley where Haven lay; from the peak, however, she could fully appreciate the enormity of the mountain range. You just didn't get sights like this belowground.

If the view of the rest of the range was awe-inspiring, however, the Temple proved a grim reminder of why they were here. Over the last month, little had changed – petrified bodies still issued silent screams among sourceless fires, while crystalline spurs of red lyrium thrust out of the shattered ground alongside Fade-warped stone. At the center, the massive, partially-sealed Rift pulsed unsettlingly like a beating heart.

"So this is where it all began, eh? The demons, and all that rubbish." Desa turned to regard Dorian, raising her eyebrow as if to ask, _Are you serious?_ "Somehow I thought the destruction would be a bit more… dramatic. Mind you, I can't say I fancy the look of all that lyrium. The red glow helps set the mood, but it gives me the most _horrible_ headaches." The Altus shivered. "Can we get a move on? If we stay up here much longer, I'm liable to catch a cold."

"You know, Sparkler, you'd be a lot warmer if you put a shirt on," Varric said as he joined the pair. "You've been with us nearly a week, and all I've seen you wear is leather and buckles. You do realize you're in in the _Frost_ backs, right?"

"I most certainly do, but I refuse to surrender my fashion sense to such _barbaric_ weather. Someone, after all, must a beacon of civilization."

"My dear Dorian, the only beacon I see is one of novice pyromancy." Vivienne's voice was like silk on steel. "While I applaud your ingenuity, your modified barrier practically _leaks_ mana, and by your own admission it's far from adequate. Now, if you don't mind, our rebel friends are ready to perform the ritual. Do try and keep up."

Desa shook her head, not bothering to suppress a chuckle as she joined the small army inside the temple. Cullen and Leliana's men had the temple secure, ready to respond if the ritual attracted attention from the other side in the moments between the Breach's re-opening and sealing. Meanwhile, Solas was going over the ritual with the mage cadre one last time. Desa neither knew nor was interested in the specifics, but she had been amused to know that the assembled mages – all formerly senior enchanters in their respective circles – had been mystified by the theory behind the spellwork. Being shown up by an apostate, an elf at that, was like shoving a second stick up each of their asses.

The Iron Bull was waiting for her in the central crater with his Chargers and the rest of Desa's team. Unlike the mage cadre, who could perform their role from a relatively safe distance, the mark on her hand required her to be almost on top of the rift that swirled beneath the Breach. The mercenary commander's role was to ensure her personal safety, leaving any runners to the ring of Inquisition soldiers and agents.

"All ready, Boss?"

"As ready as we'll ever be," Desa responded, rolling up her left sleeve as she approached. The mark was brimming with energy, wreathing her hand in verdant flames. She turned, looking to Solas, who nodded his readiness. It was down to her, then. Desa took a deep breath, bracing herself, feeling as though she stood the precipice before the edge of the world. _If this doesn't work…_

She did her best to cram that doubt into a box in the deepest recesses of her mind.

Moving with a confidence she didn't fully possess, she began closing the remaining distance between her and the rift, lifting her hand and bringing the power of the mark to bear. She didn't know how it worked, and barely knew how to control it – as a dwarf, the magic felt alien in a way she doubted a non-dwarf could fully understand. But it responded to her will, power building between her hand and the swirling energies of the Breach. There was a resistance she'd never felt with smaller rifts, and with every step a sense of soul-crushing weight descended on her.

"Mages! Focus past the Herald! Let her will draw from you!" Solas' voice rang out as the mages' ritual reached its peak. Power flowed into Desa, not like the raging chaos of the mark on her hand, but feeling instead like warm sunlight on her back after a long day. It washed away the fatigue of both her mind and body, and her labored breathing calmed. It flowed through her outstretched hand, and terrible pressure gave way. With a quiet roar, the hastily-made seal on the Breach tore open.

Desa's world narrowed as the power within her made war on the force that had torn the sky; only faintly could she hear the Chargers around her, bracing themselves for battle. Nothing, however, emerged from the Breach – no horned pride demons or even rag-wrapped shades. Nothing except –

"– I'm going to try to return –"

The rift convulsed, a sure sign that something was near to crossing over. She was so close – she could feel the massive rift unraveling in front of her. If a demon came through, however, its presence would stabilize the Breach and she'd have to start again. Desa doubted she'd be capable of a second try. With a cry, she redoubled her efforts, abandoning all thought of self-preservation; raging energy scorched her flesh as she focused everything she could draw upon into a last-ditch assault.

The world exploded in light and pain.

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 **Alright, this took much, MUCH longer than I'd expected. I'd hoped to have this done a month back, but ended up having half a chapter that just felt unsatisfactory to release on its own. As it is, the chapter is less polished than I'd like, but I'm worried I'll end up sitting on it for another month if I don't publish.**

 **I'm not gonna make promises as to having the next chapter out any time soon, as my graduate studies & internship need to come first, but I'm hopeful of having it out before the new year. My inspiration tends to focus on specific scenes and events rather than overarching storyline, but I've been planning the next scene for a while. Ignoring that a man just fell out of the Fade, Mah'alleinir is bound to drive a few folks crazy. Power-wrought weapons are fundamentally different than DA enchanted weapons, and even as a mundane weapon it's on the unusual side.**

 **Addendum: I'm still having trouble coming up with Varric's nickname for Perrin, as 'Curly' is already taken by Cullen. If you've got ideas, feel free to let me know.**


	3. Chapter 2 - What Dreams May Come

**Disclaimer: Neither** _ **The Wheel of Time**_ **nor** _ **Dragon Age: Inquisition**_ **belong to me, but rather to their respective creators; if you can recognize it, it ain't mine.**

 **I'd hoped to speed up from a chapter every six months, but the world's gotten kinda fucked since October. And not in a fun way.**

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Perrin dreamed.

He knew it to be no ordinary dream, but it was nothing like the Wolf Dream he knew. Islands of rock hung suspended in a misty green-gray void, heedless of gravity or common sense. Fragments of buildings dotted the floating isles, but even the most intact obeyed an alien logic – walls hung unsupported, and angles bent in strange ways. The Wolf Dream was a reflection of the waking world, and Perrin could not imagine any place that would be reflected like this.

That he was not here in the flesh, then, was of no small comfort. He could feel the path back to his sleeping body in the back of his mind, but somehow he knew that attempting to wake would prove futile - whatever had happened, whatever that mysterious tear had done to him, had left him too physically drained to simply will himself to consciousness. Faile would likely have sharp words for him when he returned. He did not dwell long on the problem, however, as it was a small detail compared to the mystery before him.

The familiar weight of Mah'alleinir formed in his hand, but Perrin dismissed it with a frown. The massive hammer was a weapon of war and men, ill-suited for exploring this strange place. Absentmindedly he grasped a Two Rivers longbow before dismissing that as well. _A weapon of men... but this is no place of men, is it?_

Between one moment and the next, the curly-haired man was replaced by a large wolf. Leaping, he disappeared in a blur and reappeared at the edge of the nearest island. Pausing, he tested the air: there was a faint hint of two-legs, alongside a mix of unfamiliar scents that made its fur bristle. He would have to be careful. Silent as the swirling mists, he loped into the unknown.

Young Bull had answers to hunt.

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"Are you telling me another bleeding idiot came out of that rift?"

Adan was as cranky as ever, despite the celebration that had overtaken Haven. The good Mother Giselle may have declared a holiday upon the sealing of the Breach, but Desa was unsurprised the alchemist-turned-apothecary busy mixing poultices. He was practical-minded, even to a fault, and it would take more than a mere "divine miracle" to make him turn away from his work.

Desa suspected he was also allergic to fun, or at least any sane definition of the world. He shunned both the tavern and campfires, complaining of the noise, and the first time she'd seen a genuine smile on his face was when she brought him a recipe for Antivan fire. Finding it among that Hinterland merchant's wares had been a stroke of luck, as Adan's own notes had been lost in the chaos of the Conclave; Leliana had forbid any attempts to reverse-engineer it after the third time his lab caught fire.

It was with this in mind that she'd sought him out. Their mysterious stranger from the Fade didn't seem to be in immediate peril – unlike in her case, there was no alien mark trying to kill him – but he had yet to regain consciousness. That left the Inquisition leadership with a conundrum. His existence was as closely-guarded a secret as it could be, given that his arrival was witnessed by well over a hundred Inquisition soldiers, agents, and allies, and they wanted answers before he became the talk of the camp. However, questioning him would require healing, and the process would lead to the same attention they were trying to avoid. It had been Cullen who ultimately suggested Adan. Not only was his lab relatively isolated from the rest of the camp, but he had been responsible for Desa's treatment when she herself fell out of the Fade.

For all his grumbling, the alchemist seemed far from upset about halting his poultice-mixing. The Inquisition was always in need of more, but tasking Adan with making them was like asking a master armorer to make nails; even knowing his work saved lives, he was itching for something more interesting or explosive to work on. Adan wasted no time in clearing a workspace, snapping at the stretcher-bearing soldiers as he did so.

"Shift your damn asses! Lay the lad on the table, then get out. Herald, you stay here – you've got more nimble fingers than those oafs, and my bloody assistants decided to take a damn holiday."

Desa made no complaint; she would have had him send a runner anyway, so staying simply cut out the middleman. Pulling off her gloves, she moved to help Adan with his examination. While she was well acquainted with field medicine, the gulf between their respective skills quickly became clear. Some of the methods the alchemist used mystified her, however – how did listening to his chest through a bone tube help?

It took almost half an hour before Adan seemed satisfied. Leaving the stranger lying on a cot they'd moved into the cabin, he set a kettle to boil while he sorted through his herbs.

"So Adan, what do you think?"

The alchemist ignored her until he had found the herbs he was looking for – mostly Elfroot, with a pinch of Embrium, and a few she didn't know – and deposited them in a mortar. "Exhaustion, mostly. But I'd bet a fat purse of royals that we're looking at Fade-sickness as well."

"What in the name of the Stone is Fade-sickness? I assume it's got something to do with him still being unconscious."

"Aye, that it does. Not surprised you haven't heard of it – you dwarves don't dream, so you can't catch the damn thing. It's usually only an issue for mages, and doesn't much trouble us normal folk. You know how mages' dreams go deeper into the Fade, lucid dreaming, right?"

Desa thought she could see where this was heading. "But I though all dreaming touched the Fade."

"Yes, but there's touching the Fade, and there's _touching_ the Fade. We all do the first – you dwarves excepted – but mages' dream different." He paused, trying to find the right words. "It's a bit like how a branch floats, but a rock sinks. Or like how birds have wings, but some still can't fly."

"Anyway, Fade-sickness happens when someone's mind get stuck in the Fade," Adan explained as he ground the herbs. "Something to do with the body being too exhausted for the mind to return, and the mind being too deep in the Fade for the body to recover proper. Do nothing, and they waste away - thankfully, though, you've got me."

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On a jutting spur of stone, a wolf blurred into existence next to a crackling campfire. It had been too long since Young Bull had run on four legs; there was a freedom in it, despite the strangeness that surrounded him. Each step had carried him a dozen spans or more as he explored the coastline of one of the larger islands, his dreaming mind twisting distance as easily as breathing. The rush of discovery was fading, though, and he could feel a familiar exhaustion soaking into his bones. Deciding it would be as good a place as any to rest, the wolf became a curly-haired man, who sat down on a nearby rock. That the campfire's flames danced a cheery blue rather than a familiar yellow-red now seemed a minor detail.

Perrin had lost any pretensions that this was the same Wolf Dream he knew. Hopper had been thorough in his teaching; the Wolf Dream had rules, and this place either distorted them or broke them entirely. He could still manipulate the dream – if anything, it was easier than it should have been – but the landscape did not reflect the waking world. Rather, it contained pale, partial imitations of it: upside down staircases, anatomically questionable statues, gravity-defying towers… it was an unsettling combination. And then there were the creatures.

He'd noticed them not long after he started his exploration, or rather, they had noticed him. Even now they skittered at the edge of his awareness, alien thoughts brushing against his mind. It was unlike anything he'd experienced; a conversation between wolves and even Wolfbrothers was a sequence of images and emotions, but the minds touching his seemed almost human, questing whispers in a language he could almost understand. None had revealed themselves physically, which was strangely comforting. They seemed as wary of him as he was of them.

Shifting to human form, however, seemed to spark some hitherto unrealized interest. The pressure on his mind grew, one voice overwhelming the others. Rather than pull back when he blocked its touch, it continued, _insistent_ , until –

 _Welcome, Dreamer._

The words echoed in his ears as well as his mind, understandable at last. Thin mists coalesced on the other side of the fire, forming a human-shaped figure that did not stand so much as float just above the ground. Lithe in build, nearly as short as a Cairhienin, and with long, pointed ears more akin to an Ogier than human, it brought to mind Mat's description of the Aelfinn and Eelfinn. Perrin hefted his hammer. Both the snake- and fox-people were said to feed on human experience and memory, and Mat insisted neither were to be trusted; if this creature was kin to either, he would have to be on his guard.

 _Be at ease. I am Curiosity, and I mean you no harm._

* * *

 **As a general rule, sounding the depths of the Fade (or any dreamworld) while already physically exhausted is a Bad Idea; while** **Fade-sickness isn't (as far as I'm aware) cannon, the idea fit like a glove, so I ran with it.**

 **For Dragon Age fans unfamiliar with Wheel of Time shenanigans, Perrin's experience as a Wolfbrother puts him on a similar level as a Dreamer. He can't perform the more arcane techniques, such as entering the dreams of others or pulling them into his own Dream, but he is terrifyingly good at imposing his will on the dreamworld. While I'd initially planned for him to showcase this with an encounter with a demon, Curiosity seemed that much more apt after a revision or two; such a spirit would be drawn to an explorer, after all.**

 **As for Adan... that curmudgeon of an alchemist deserves more love. He's fun to write, and I don't plan on him fading as far into the background as he did in-game.**

 **Also: if you enjoy my writing, be on the lookout for a drabble or two. I've got two other stories that have started brewing in my head, tentatively named "Mulligan of Zero" (a WoT & FoZ crossover, with a serendipitous summoning saving Matrim from assassins) and "Of Mists and Magic" (a HP & Mistborn crossover, where Sirius Black ends up in Scadrial, and Hoid is probably to blame).**


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